


Catatonia

by Arachnoid



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Danedehipster Stories, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oneshot, Psychosis, Psychotic Disorder, TASM2, Twisted!Harry, crazy!harry, psychotic!Harry, tasm, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arachnoid/pseuds/Arachnoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catatonia: A profoundly agitated state in which the experience of reality is generally considered impaired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catatonia

**Author's Note:**

> More Twisted!Harry, not in the same universe as Psychosis, however they have similar back-story! I'm going to rant at the end of this story, so you can feel free to completely ignore that. (You should probably ignore it) Please do enjoy! :)
> 
> WARNING: May contain triggers for some readers. Triggers placed in the tags  
> Word Count: 15,216

Bare feet stepped out of the rubble, a soft giggle bouncing around the halls quietly. He checked behind him, to the looming black cloud of smoke that tunnelled upwards, effectively obscuring his current path of escape to the guards. Perfect.

The Green Goblin curled his still cuffed hands into themselves repeatedly, the nervous action showing his pure excitement. He was almost out, his freedom in his own control now.

It had been rather easy, actually, to make quite the show. It only took a small amount of help from Mr. Fiers himself, having him modify the pumpkin bombs so they could get past the guards. All Goblin had to do was distract them during a cell transfer, throw a few into the other cells and then he was free of their chasing dogs and soldiers. For now, at least.

He made haste, running straight towards the exit of the facility. It wasn’t too far, and no guards were actually at the exit to stop him. Just by the fenced in area, which would be the more difficult part of his run; getting away from the open expanse of the field before getting shot or mauled. Or so he thought, until he gave a quick glance around and saw hundreds of prisoners running to the gate, digging under, climbing or all out running through the fenced in premise. One of the other freed prisoners must have been letting them out, which made his job a hell of a lot easier. Goblin exposed his rotting fangs in a full out grin, following suit and slipping under the cage; his small body making it an easy feat.

Some got shot down, some ended up restrained, but Goblin wasn’t about to stop, he couldn’t fail: he didn’t ever fail. It was the Osborn way, and he was an Osborn… to an extent.

 _That’s not a good thing,_  A voice sneered at him, smooth and suave and deep. Of course, Harry always had to throw in his input when Goblin was trying to get  _anything_  done. He ignored him, moving with as much urgency as possible

 

*******

 

It didn’t take all that long to make it back into the city. A twenty minute jog, maybe, and the swarms of people concealed him nicely. Well, as much as one could conceal a deformed, green goblin in a fluorescent orange jumpsuit. They all looked at him funny. So he snapped his teeth together at them in a nasty snarl. It startled a group of them, and so he laughed.

A few of the other prisoners had followed behind him, and now looked around dumbly for a direction to go. Many had forgotten where they lived or who they were, only remembering that they had to get out of Ravencroft. If they even had somewhere to live in the first place. Goblin knew the feeling.

He slipped inside a small department store, making haste to the clothing aisle before any customers or staff saw and asked questions. At least the place was relatively abandoned.

The clothing was rather mediocre, and the Harry in him snorted in disgust at the sight. Goblin didn’t really care either way, although it would be rather classy to step out in a suit. He chuckled at his thought and reached for some plain straight legged jeans with a simple black t-shirt.

He ducked his head behind the racks of clothing when an attendant walked past him, folding some of the out-of-order jeans. Anxious in the open, he pulled the clothing off the racks and speed-walked into the change room, looking nervously behind him.

His biggest issue now would be the handcuffs. He couldn’t get the sleeves of his one-piece off if his hands were bound together. Goblin didn’t consider it long until he came to a conclusion. He took the collar of his suit and stuffed it into his mouth, biting down hard.

Goblin gripped the entire length of his thumb in one hand, wrapping and unwrapping his fingers around it until he felt a sturdy grip.

 _Oh no no not the hands. Not the hands, not the hands, not the ha-….-nds._  Harry chanted in Goblin's head, only stopping when he ripped it out of it's socket. A half scream, half-groan tore out of his throat, unable to stop the nerves in his body from reacting. Damn.

One dislocated thumb? Check. As gently so he could, Goblin now grabbed the ring of the cuff locked securely around his wrist and began sliding it down past his thumb. It compressed it painfully into his palm, but with his shirt still tucked in his mouth, he was able to wince his eyes and breathe harshly until it was completely off of him.

 _That was gross._  Again Goblin ignored him, rolling his eyes disinterestedly. Always with the irrelevant comments.

The first thing he did was stretch his arms out and pop his shoulders, craning his neck and cracking his back. Now  _that_  was a nice feeling. He brought his eyes down to his already swelling joint, hoping that someone back at the mansion could pop it back in. He wasn’t about to do that again.

Goblin slid the zipper of the suit down and peeled it from his shoulders, making a slow process of it. He always regretted looking at himself in the mirror. He averted his eyes, trying to ignore the paleness of his skin and the horrible angry rash that had grown down his back.

The doctors had been treating his disease properly at one point, but he had stopped taking the medication when he found out it was also a sedative. He wasn’t having any of that, but it did upset him to see the green welts spotted on his skin. At least his face was okay, the only give away that Harry wasn’t around being the green eyes, horrible teeth and the rash on his neck. He itched it briefly, tugging the shirt on and pulling the pants up with a bit of difficulty, thanks to his injured hand. Some of the illness could be seen past the sleeves of the shirt, but it wasn’t bad enough to draw attention. Whatever.

Remembering the tags, Goblin ripped off the prices and the clothing monitors, keeping them in his grasp to throw into the garbage before exiting the store. He fingered his hair briefly, trying to fix his pretty-boy sweep but failing horrible. He needed his damn blow dryer, or rather, Harry needed it.

A swift escape and few-minute walk later, he found himself back on the street, trying his best to act nonchalant. He thought he was doing pretty well, because people weren't gawking as obviously as before.

Police sirens sang behind him abruptly, a car recently being powered on and he felt his nerves spike. he stepped into a side alley inconspicuously to press flat against the wall, watching and listening as it sped down the street and resounded away from him. That was close.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Despite being wrongly addressed, Goblin snapped his attention to the right, where a fool adorning blue and red spandex stood with crossed arms. He glared, but slowly grinned his crooked teeth.

"Not  _Harry_ , Parker." He giggled again as Spider-Man stepped back, surprised at the sight of his teeth. "What a pleasure it is to see you again." Goblin stalled, knowing this was a fight he couldn’t win. He didn’t have anymore bombs, and he certainly didn’t have a weapon. He would probably get his ass kicked.

"Come here." Peter demanded, refusing to waste time with the monster of a man in front of him. He yanked his arm and twisted it behind him, causing Harry –  _Goblin_  – to grunt quietly.

"Whoa, don’t get so excited Pete. I didn’t know you missed me so much."

"Shut  _up_!" Peter began pushing him through the alley to the other side, making him stagger awkwardlyat times. It was when Peter turned his head to listen to another set of passing by sirens that Goblin made his move.

He yanked his hand out harshly from the grip, using his momentum to plant an elbow into Peter’s temple. The spider stumbled, taken aback by the attack and blinking wearily. That was sudden.

Goblin wasn’t done yet, snatching up some rocks and throwing them in Pete’s face as he sprinted for him full force. Tackling the boy to the ground, the monster straddled him at the waist and brought his fists into Peter’s face repeatedly, refusing to even let him breathe. Parker didn’t tolerate it for long until he was launching Goblin into the wall of the alley.

With the air stolen from him, the sickly man slid down the wall weakly, panting desperately for air. Yeah, he was probably pretty boned right about now. Peter took slow, angry steps towards him until they stood inches apart, Peter’s glower detectable through his mask.

"Wow Pete… You sure know how to–" quick cough. "Blow people away." Goblin laughed some more, finding the entire situation spectacularly funny. He grinned his toothy smile, staring at Peter with lidded eyes. His escape plan wasn’t going so well at this point.

 _You’re an idiot._  Harry muttered, metaphorically shaking his head at the Goblin. Harry just wanted to get home and have some liquor, maybe a bit of meaningless sex and then down a couple drugs and he’d be happy again. Well, as happy as Harry could get with a dead, neglectful father, a dead girl on his conscious and his best friend hating him.  _Just shut up and hit him in the head with something._

Goblin looked left and right slowly, finding some rusted pipe and doing just that. That knocked Peter out  _cold._

The spider collapsed to the ground in a heap without a twitch of his muscles. Goblin grinned at the sight and advanced on him, still clutching the pipe.

 _Don’t even think about it. Let's just go._  Harry said, hoping the desperation in his voice wasn’t obvious. It was.

"Shut up. You’re annoying me." Goblin muttered, mentally pushing Harry into a black cloud of unknowing. There, that’d keep the brat quiet.

The green man was just raising his weapon when a police car stopped by the entrance of the alley, Police getting ready to attack. He debated for a second before groaning and leaving the unconscious Peter, letting the pipe clatter to the floor and running through to the other side. He settled into a fast walk with the other citizens easily, finally arriving at the pickup where it had been previously decided with the sinister six. A slick white car sat in a parking lot, tinted windows concealing his driver. Goblin climbed into the passenger seat.

"Why hello, F e l i c i a." He purred out, enunciating every letter and looking the girl up and down. She was wearing her BlackCat outfit, and Goblin would like to say she was rather ravishing. She turned her nose away in disgust.

"It was my understanding I would be picking up Harry. Not…  _You._ " Pure disdain.

"Aw, dear. You hurt me!" He placed a hand at his chest, feigning her words actually bothered him.

"You’re an ass." She rolled her eyes and pulled away from the parking lot, heading towards Harry’s house.

"Whatever. Harry is a weak fool." The Goblin grumbled, experiencing a rather sudden mood shift. He turned his head and glared glumly out the window, briefly intriguing Felicia. Goblin didn’t usually care about their comments, but there were times when he would get moody and quiet, and now was one of them apparently. She looked down at his cradled hand and furrowed her brows.

"You broke your hand?" She asked it skeptically, noting the way his thumb hung stiffly. Goblin looked down to stare at it with her, only giving her a half shrug as response. She didn’t say anything more.

A little less than an hour later with a tensely silent car ride, the two arrived at the house. Goblin doesn’t wait for BlackCat to turn the engine off before he’s up and out of the car, storming towards the door with a childish fury.

Electro is the first to spot him. Max is almost excited to see his old friend, until he receives a cold,  _green_  glare from the boy.

"Where’s Harry?" He speaks up when Goblin steps past him, intending to hide in his room and destroy some of Harry’s precious items. Why is everyone so i _n love_  with the damn fool?

"Dead." He mutters, as he always mutters, despite the falsity of the words. It was more of a wish of the Goblin’s, that everyone would forget about Harry and embrace him. But he would be damned before he admitted that, even to himself.

"Harry – I mean Goblin. Slow down!" Max runs after him and grabs his wrist, making the green boy stop in his tracks at the way his fingers are pressing against his bad thumb. He inhales sharply and tries to jerk away, only making it worse when Electro refuses to release. He must not realize the discomfort he’s causing. "I’m not about to let you storm off in this mood. I  _know_  how you get." The blue eyes boring into him make Goblin squirm when he feels Harry pressing for conscious again, desperate to see Max and Felicia and finally meet all the members of their sinister six. He hadn’t had the chance to meet the other three yet, as he was thrown in Ravencroft shortly after the escapades with Electro. Goblin shivered.

"Why, there’s nothing wrong with the way I get,  _Maxy_." Goblin hums, taking into account the way Electro hates hearing his oddly warped voice. Felicia steps up into the opened doorway that was left open, eyeing the encounter dully. She doesn’t seem impressed by the fact Harry isn’t back yet. Goblin rolls his eyes. "Fine."

He clenches his eyes tightly, weakening his hold on Harry and allowing himself to be backseat. Their body never takes the switch well, as in moments he’s collapsing to the ground face first. Electro keeps him up by gripping firmly to his wrist, but unfortunately, compresses the joint again.

"Ouch!" Harry hisses, yanking away from Electro when his legs feel a tad more stable. He’s shaking slightly, however, and he gets an odd look from the blue man.

" _There_  he is." BlackCat purrs, and she’s striding over quickly to bundle Harry into a hug. She’s taller than him, with her high-heel shoes on, but she just tucks his head into her collarbone, cradling him like one would a child. He’s a bit shocked at first, unaccustomed to the affection, but he slowly melts into it and his arms are wrapping gently around her waist. His eyes flutter shut and he just _smiles_  because  _God_  he missed being around people who cared about him, people who were sane and people who didn’t experiment on his mentality and his body on a daily basis.

His grip tightens when he thinks about it, the onslaught of memories – attached with feeling this time – becoming difficult to bear. Because  _Goblin_  was supposed to deal with this,  _Goblin_  was the one who protected them from hurting and thinking and now Goblin had stepped away and Harry was experiencing it  _all at once._  His chest lurched as he suppressed a sob and Harry buried deeply into her neck because he couldn’t allow anyone else to see him pathetically breaking down like this. She seemed to know what was happening regardless, and began soothing gentle fingers down his spine.

"It’s okay Har." She whisperes, hugging him tighter to herself. Max still stood right beside the two like an idiot, unsure what to do with himself.

"I’m going to… Go let the others know you’ve arrived and that Uhm… You need some rest." Harry immediately shook his head, pulling away from Felicia and pressing the balls of his hands into his eyes. Sniffling once for good measure, and he was pulling his hands away to look at Electro, blue meeting blue this time.

"No. No I’m fine." I just need a drink. He added as an afterthought, eyes scanning the room for any liquor.

"Well, you should probably rest. Your feet are bleeding and it’s a miracle we didn’t run into Spider-Man with your whole show back there. How many prisoners escaped, anyways?" Felicia piped up, idly wiping a stray tear from Harry’s face. He pulled away from her touch this time.

"What? My feet?" His eyes shot down and he took in the way cuts and scapes littered the skin on the bottoms of his feet. He had been so caught up with everything he didn’t even  _realize_  they were hurting until now. Stupid Goblin forgetting to grab shoes. "Well shit." He muttered to himself, causing a round of giggles to pass between Electro and BlackCat. He looked back up to them and smiled shyly, not sure why it was funny in the first place.

"Come on, you. Let’s get you cleaned up." She dragged him into the bathroom, patting the counter as her way of telling him to sit here. She turned to one of the cabinets behind her to rummage for cleaning supplies before running the water for the bath.

Harry hopped up, silently obeying as he buried himself in thoughts of Peter. He – No, no,  _Goblin_  –  _did_  actually have an encounter with the Spider, and Harry could say he was relieved they had to go when they did. Goblin still wanted to kill the boy, and Harry was terrified when Goblin had pushed him away like that. He thought for sure he would’ve woken up with blood all over his hands. Well, blood other than his, that is.

"Alright, now let’s see this hand of yours." Harry cringed at the reminder of Goblin’s desperate actions, unwilling to look at the misshapen thumb. It was disgusting.

He reluctantly offered her the limb, cringing when she took it carefully into her hands. He was so not ready to have that jammed back in. She seemed to disagree, fingers aligning themselves around his thumb to get it back into place. Her muscles tensed.

"Wait, wait wait! Just slow down." Felicia only stopped to give him a pointed look before she jerked out and pushed back in. Harry screamed, hoarse and dry into his closed mouth, and likely would’ve punched her if Electro didn’t decide to grab his other hand at that time. It’s not that he wanted to  _hit her_ , he just wanted to get away from the source of pain, and currently that was her.

"Sh-shh." One of them soothed, the ache being too strong to distinguish voices. Someone was petting his hair while he clenched his eyes, and he was biting into something, hard. It took him a while to realize it was his own forearm, only pulling away when Felicia eased him off of it. He blinked twice at her, feeling dazed.

Max left rather suddenly then, Felicia closing and locking the door as she helped Harry undress. His focus split, his mind experiencing exhaustion from his many sleepless nights at Ravencroft. Nights spent quaking and sweating because the medication he was fed was wrongly diagnosed many times and made him horrible ill. Nights where lying down hurt too much, so he’d have to sit propped against the wall cradling his injuries or simply standing with his head thrown back against the door. Or when him and Goblin fought and shouted and physically attacked each other (himself) until the nurses would come in and sedate them.

Harry released a shaky breath and clenched his fists, trying to stop his running thoughts before he was having an anxiety attack in front of Felicia. She looked at him, noticing glazed-over eyes and a slight tremor that wracked his body. Or maybe it was simply his disease advancing further. She shook her head to rid the thoughts, eying the rest of his body with an increasing dread. There’s a ragged  _Y-shaped scar_  carved down his sternum and into his abdomen that’s still bumped up and pink. Felicia has to tear her eyes away with the way her mind tries to tell her it’s an autopsy incision. The doctors wouldn’t of done that… Right?

Harry was now mostly naked, sitting in plain grey briefs and spacing out more than when he was baked. He hadn’t even noticed when Felicia had removed everything, but he didn’t protest. This is something she had had to do before, and it wasn’t like he was ashamed of his body, anyway. Or at least he  _wasn’t_ , until the horrible green rash had begun to plague most of his torso and ugly marred marks colouring bright against it. He was grateful that Felicia’s gaze didn’t linger on them.

She pulled his hand until he slid off the counter, guiding him over to the now full bath. She slipped the last of his clothing off and helped him step inside the warm water and ease down. His eyes eased shut immediately and he sank further into the comfort, idly wanting to slip underneahth the surface and never come up. He didn’t go under though, only letting his mind drift away from him and forget he exists.

 

*******

 

The next time he’s aware he’s sitting on the edge of his Royal fluffed bed, blue plaid pyjama pants and a simple gray t-shirt to match his current feelings -- Dull. He blinks.

There’s gauze lightly secured around his feet, hiding the ugly marks that he hadn’t even realized he –  ** _Goblin_**  – made earlier. Damn it!

He had to stop doing that. It had become near  _impossible_  to tell who decided what back in the prison, whether Harry or Goblin chose to maul a nurse, spit out his medication or store it up and take them all at once. He could  _barely_  ever tell the two of them apart anymore, Goblin being the only sense of support for him back there.  _God,_  he was a wreck.

Max is suddenly in front of him and Harry has a brief moment to wonder what happened to Felicia before he is grabbing his waist to lay him down.

"Wait, wait." Max seems startled by the words, almost as if he had thought Harry was already sleeping. "What about…" Harry doesn’t even know what he wants to ask, too out of himself to be able to distinguish dream and reality. He just wants confirmation that he’s out of there, climbing into bed with his best friend in front of him. Well, the next best thing to Pete, that is.

"Sleep, Harry. We can talk in the morning." Max pushes the boy down and drags the burgundy sheets up to his chin, making sure to tuck him in nice and tidy. Harry curls onto his side and let’s his eyes settle shut immediately, curling the blankets into his fist. He feels himself drift away.

Max settles down in a chair to the right of the bed, watching Harry bundle away in the bounce-scented sheets. He looked incredibly vulnerable since he showed up, and it had yet to cease. Max was  _scared_  for Harry, the way he would go deathly still and silent, unresponsive to him and Felicia entirely. It was almost as if his personality had been scooped out, leaving an empty shell to move and act on anyone’s accord. He was like a  _doll._

The kid was like his baby brother, and Max knew first-hand what Ravencroft was like. He was lucky that Harry got him out when he did, but the boy was in there for a  _few months_ , and if Felicia’s teary eyes were anything to go by earlier, Harry had taken  _more_  than his fair-share of abuse. She had turned to him and mumbled something about how she, ‘Couldn’t deal with this right now,’ before running off into her own quarters and slamming the door.

He set his elbows on his knees, propping his forehead into his hands. Goddamn, Harry was the last person who deserved to be a  _live experiment_  for a couple of freaks. Goblin, perhaps, but Goblin wasn’t Harry, and the poor boy was the one who had to deal with it. Not that horror of a person.

Max looks back up at Harry’s prose form, admiring how pretty he looks under the blue light of Electro’s skin. His eyes flutter behind closed lids, brow furrowing and un-furrowing like it does when he’s stressed. There’s a white line running from behind his ear to mid-neck, a leftover clean-cut. More  _goddamn_  incisions. Electro pulls his eyes to look at the clock, the glowing green numbers a minor distraction. Eight o’clock reflects back to him, and he shakes his head a little, smiling the slightest. Harry was like a little kid, in bed and sleeping at eight.

It quickly turns into a frown, the thought bitter-sweet. He stood. He still had to talk to the other members about Harry’s arrival.

 

*******

 

Harry has another sleepless night. He had been out cold until about eleven at night, when his eyes flew open rather suddenly and he has fists ready. His heart thundered in his chest while his eyes hurriedly looked around the room, expecting his cell door to burst open and nurses to rush in to restrain him.

But he wasn’t in a cell. When he realized he was in his bed, in his home, he sucked in a steadying breath and relaxed his head back down on the feather-pillow. Here, in this room, there was no eleven o’clock medication force-feeding. He had become so accustomed to being startled back to life at this hour that he automatically woke at this time, unable to willingly accept the bullshit chemicals they tried to shove down his throat.

Harry breathed in again, closing his eyes in a moment of exhaustion. It didn’t last long when his anxiety told him that the nurses would  _be here any minute_ , and blue irises appeared again. He couldn’t lie here like bait, even if he wasn’t back in Ravencroft. He had many enemies, and anyone could come for him at any minute.  _Anyone._

Before he makes the thought his body is standing and striding into the private bathroom, desperately digging around for a weapon. He flings open the cabinets, pulls out the many left-over medications and leaves them on the floor. Throws around the towels and rips the shower curtain off the bar. He can’t find anything useful, and eventually he just runs back in his bedroom to grab a pillow and he’s hurrying back in the bathroom, locking the door and ducking inside the tub. He pulls a towel off a hook and drapes it over himself, turning so that he can watch the door. The lock isn’t enough.

Harry stands again, pulling one of the vanity chairs out and tucking it under the handle. He tests the knob himself to make sure it sticks,  _to make sure_  it’s locked, before he’s settling back inside his make-shift bed. His first towel crumpled to the floor of the bath, so he grabs a second one and curls it around his shoulders, crossing his legs and facing the door again. He’s thankful his bathtub is so large. Harry's eyes permanently fix themselves on the handle of the door, waiting for it’s creaking turn. It doesn’t come, and he doesn’t know when he slumps over and falls asleep again.

Too bad his second sleep is plagued with nightmares.

He’s back in Ravencroft, and this time Gwen is the doctor. She has him strapped to the table, four different needles injected into the crease of his elbow and feeding him disgusting, synthetic fluids. He tries to beg her to  _stop_ , tries to tell her that it wasn’t him, that it was the demon in his head, but she doesn’t believe him, choosing to lift the scalpel off the lab table instead. It glints horribly in the light and Harry is hyperventilating. He closes his eyes but it doesn’t  _matter_  because he still sees it when the blade drags down his chest. Harry is screaming, screaming and flailing and fighting but he  _can’t move_ , and he can’t breathe either. He thinks he’s dying.

But then the scene is changing, and he’s in a pitch black room, suffocated by a white jacket that’s splotched with blood. He thinks it's his own, but he doesn’t know for sure. There’s some kind of mechanism that has his jaw strapped shut and again he feels the air stolen from him. There’s something  ** _dark_**  about this room, some kind of internal warning that his brain is trying to scream at him. He can’t hear it though, and his ragged breaths are the only thing that echoes. Until there are claws scraping against the bricks. Breathing stops and eyes widen, searching for the sound.

There’s a snicker, and then nails dragging across his back and he whips around, facing the continuous emptiness of the darkness. He drags his head slowly away from the corner and a face greets him. He screams and startles back, cracking his skull on the ground and losing his bearings. The person in the room drags him back upright.

"Harry, my prince." The… The thing starts grinning horrible rotten teeth and he’s reaching forward, dragging his claws down one of his arms. The sleeve is suddenly stained scarlet.

Harry tries to speak but the device holding his jaw shut prevents that and suddenly he’s very very  _scared_. The deformed creature is speaking to him, whispering with ghosting fingers that feel like dry ice pressing into him.

"Goblin. I am Goblin. And you listen to me. Okay, handsome?" The green man comes up to him and curls his crooked fingers round his jaw, claws pressing into the skin and causing rivets of blood to bead down the monsters hand. Harry is screaming louder than he thinks is possible with something covering his mouth, but it doesn’t matter; he still can’t form words. Goblin and the room disappear in smoke and he’s back in his cell, lying down like a vacant casing. He’s settled in the shitty, rocky mattress when he starts gasping again, unable to control himself anymore. He doesn’t care, he’s goddamn  _terrified_. And there’s no one here, no one to help him.

" _I’m_  here, Harry." It’s that voice again, that evil voice and Harry whips around to spot him. He isn’t in the room, but his words were genuine, serious.

"Harry." There’s a doctor looming above his bed suddenly and Harry starts muttering incessantly.

"No no no. No more,  _please_  no more. Please stop, please no more." The doctor ignores him, driving the length of a thick needle into his spine. Their harvesting his spinal fluid this time, but Harry starts seizing. He blacks out. He can’t remember past that, and suddenly he’s not dreaming anymore. Or so he thinks, until the dry ice bites his face again.

Harry’s eyes startle open and his instincts tell him to grab the closest thing to him that will cause damage; the torn down shower bar. The weight of the metal staff is prominent but Harry is  _panting_  and  _frantic_  and all he sees is doctors and nurses and they keep  _talking_ to him.

"Harry, stop!" He doesn’t know when arms wrap around his waist and the bar clatters away from him, but he’s screaming and crying again, demanding to be released in his most pathetic state. He’s lifted from the safety of his false-bed and he kicks out, knocking one of them in the face.

"Fuck you! Just stop, just leave me alone!" His voice is horribly raw, and he can’t help but note how badly it hurts, but he yells at them anyways. The one holding him eventually gives up with his squirming and drags him back out to the bed, throwing him on the mattress and pinning him down. He won’t stop fighting, no. He  _can’t_  accept those drugs again; it’ll make Goblin angry with him.

"Stop! Stop, please stop! I’m sorry!" He’s sobbing, dragging in broken breaths and falling completely limp. He lied, he can’t fight anymore, they have bested him. The one holding him down is shining a blue light at him that dances across his eyelids, but he kind of likes it. It calms him down, but he won’t stop crying. Can’t stop  _panicking._

"Harry, please. It’s me. It’s just me. I need you to look at me, Har." He doesn’t  _want_  to look at the doctor, but he likes his voice, so he does anyways. Blue eyes clash with blue, and he feels his anxiety settle, if only a bit. He looks at the face for a minute before realization hits him like a train wreck and he’s crying harder.

He attacked Max, oh god, he hurt Max. He scratched and elbowed and fought him and he hurt one of his only friends. He deserved everything that he got and more. But… Who had he kicked then? His eyes dart to the bathroom door and Felicia is there holding toilet paper to a bleeding nose.

"Oh  _G_ od." He can’t help the crack in his voice, too ashamed to look at her any longer. He throws his face into the sheets again and sobs and panics and chants incessantly. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m so sorry. I’m sorry." Max has to tell him to shut up, lovingly clutching Harry to his chest.

"Just listen." His voice rumbles, firm and demanding, but careful. He pulls the boy’s head on top of his clothed breast and makes him listen to the steady rhythm of his heart, calming him in waves. Harry’s breathing still stutters and he chokes on a sob occasionally, but he’s stopped his flailing, listening to the beat of this man’s heart. He loves it.  
  
Someone’s hand cards through his hair, slight nails scraping at his scalp. He can’t help it when his eyes slide shut and he’s pressing into the touch because  _goddamn_  he’s never gotten this much affection before. Max’s heart is steady and constant, the electric’s hands resting at his waist while gentle hands pet him and caress his face.

"It’s okay, Harry." Her voice sings out, and Harry’s gut lurches in guilt. His eyes are clenching shut and tears leak out of the corners because he’s  _crazy_  and he hurt the only people who care about him.

He must have been freaking out again because Felicia is hushing and cooing to him as she crawls in beside the two of them, one of her hands resting on his ribs and the other resting on his neck, beside the scar. She pulls the blankets back up and starts singing to him, whatever song it is matching the rhythm of Max’s heart. He falls asleep one more time, but this time he’s okay.

 

*******

 

He doesn’t wake up until four the next day. He’s alone this time, but he doesn’t wake up in distress, so it’s okay, he thinks.

He rolls off the wrinkled bedspread and lands on his feet, dragging himself towards the bathroom. His steps stutter to a stop when he notices the splintered wood of his once-bathroom door, the  _actual_  door flat on the ground.

The nights events crawl up to him and he almost falls weakly to his knees, absolute humiliation and guilt eating him alive. But he doesn’t, continuing his slow, zombie-like steps until he sees medications scattered all over the ground. He doesn’t even know what they are, but he stuffs about eight of them into his throat until he slurps some tap-water up and swallows. He splashes some of that water onto his face and pulls his hair out of the way, looking in the mirror. Black bags stain his eyes and his face is red and splotchy. His clothes are rumpled and actually  _torn_  in some places, but what draws him the most is the red moon crescents embedded into his biceps. Did he do that?

He saunters out of the bedroom as slowly as he can, his only target in mind being the stash of scotch residing in his locked cabinet. Crouching down beside it, he tugs it open after punching in the combination and pulls out his most expensive bottle. Also strongest.

He sits cross legged as he chugs it down, spilling some down his chin and splashing it on the carpet. It moves around in his stomach briefly, mixing poorly with the pills he just took and he finds himself burping… He feels his head start to dance.

He knows exactly what it’s from, the effects of one of the prescription drugs he had downed showing itself. He took a few more good chugs from the bottle until the taste made him wretch and he pushed it away from him. The amber liquor spilled out of the bottle, staining his carpet. He doesn’t care.

He rolls over onto his stomach, crawling quickly towards his couch. Ripping the cushion off, he dug around inside before producing a small baggy filled with green. He smirked lightly, swaying the slightest on his propped up knees and having to set a hand on the ground to keep still.

Now then, where was his pipe? He found a beer can staring straight at him from the coffee table, and he didn’t hesitate to snatch it. Who needed a pipe when you could make your own?

Unfortunately, there was still some in it and it poured onto his lap, sliding down his leg and soaking through to the bottom of his pants.

"Fuck." He hadn’t meant for it to be so loud, but he just wanted a  _good toke,_  already. Harry was  _just_  setting his pot into his make-shift can when it was knocked roughly out of his hands and spraying more beer onto him and the couch. "What the hell?" Harry turned slowly to look up at whatever jerk just did that, and was surprised to come face to face with someone he didn’t recognize. "Who are you?"

"I am Doctor Octopus." The voice in his head echoes, ‘I am Goblin,’ reminding Harry of his dream. He cringes, shivering outwardly and turning his head away from the man. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?" He demands, and Harry immediately recognizes the sense of authority in his tone. He feels intimidated, like he should be speaking to his _father._

"Im trying to get a good buzz going. Now if you wouldn’t mind…" He reaches for another one of the cans left out and it’s again thrown out of his hands. "Will you back off!?" He’s growling, suddenly confident to stand. He levels the guy with a killer glare.

"Will  _you_  smarten up? You’re acting like a fifteen year old kid." Harry feels when his anger clicks in place and he’s not so rational anymore. Goblin is jumping up and down in thrill because he gets to go out for  _some fun._

The doctor steps back when he sees the vibrant green blend into the boy’s eyes, recalling Electro’s warning about this boy. ‘Incredibly volatile. Terrible temper and acts before he even considers giving it any thought.’ He wasn’t scared of him in anyway, he was just scared he would have to hurt him.

His tongue darts out and wets his lips, reminding Doctor Oc of a snake.

"Maybe you wanna play, handsome?" The claws are curling around the man's forearm and the smirk on his lips is twisted and wrong.

"Goblin, let him go." The boy’s smirk drops and he turns his head slightly to stare at their intruder through the corner of his eye. Max stands intimidatingly in the doorway, not impressed by the state of the room in the slightest. But then Goblin is grinning like someone gave him cake, and he harshly releases the man before taking off for his room at a full sprint. "Goblin!" Electro yells, immediately pursuing him.

Goblin barely has time to slam the door in his face and lock it before Electro is banging against it harshly. Whatever, he’ll just drag the bookshelf in front of it. It’s kind of heavy.

"What is it,  _Maxy_?" Goblin is taunting, slowly stepping back from the barricaded door. "Jealous of the _fun_  Harry and I are going to have?"

"Don’t _fucking_  touch him, you heartless freak!" Goblin winces from the insult, trying to ignore the sting he feels. He’s part of Harry, they can’t all hate him that much, right?

 _They hate you because you’re a such prick._  Harry is talking again.

"Shut up, at least I’m not a wuss." Goblin can almost feel the glare from his former self. But he doesn’t care, because he’s mad again that everyone  _adores_  Harry so much. He surveys the room, finally free to do what he wanted since he got here.

He attacks the bed first, pressing his claws into the mattress and tearing the stuffing out. He pulls the blankets into strips and uses his shoulder to break one of the bedposts. He starts cackling when the canvas of the bed collapses down.

_Will you quit it!_

"No,  _you_  get everything you want, let  _me_  have some fun. Besides, I’m the  ** _boss_** , Harry. Who kept us alive back in there?" Harry doesn’t need to ask to ask where ‘there’ is, but he can’t find the honesty to respond. Goblin's right.

There’s a glass left on the table and Goblin takes it only to smash against the elegant shelf of trophies. The shelf gives out and all the gold figures tumble to the ground, many snapping on impact.

 _Stop it!_  Goblin ignores him. He lifts the nightstand and hurls it towards the door, hoping to scare the shit out of Max. He does.

"Goblin _stop it_ , or else you're forcing us to come in there and restrain you." He sounds very upset. Goblin is pleased, so he smiles.

“‘ _Us?_ ’ I didn’t know I had an  _audience._  I best pick it up then, hey?” Max is continuously yelling at him to stop, but he  _can’t stand_  everyone’s worry for Harry right now.

"I  _swear to God_ , if I have to break _another_  one of these doors, Goblin, I will end you!" He doesn’t answer Max this time. Instead, he moves into the bathroom, stepping on the broken door with bare feet. He finds himself adorned with splinters.

He spots bicolored pills left behind by Harry, and he decides that a high Harry is an easy-to-manipulate Harry. There are roughly fourteen in his palm, and he tosses them in his mouth but struggles horribly to swallow them. His stomach is still adjusting to the straight scotch Harry poured down it, but,  _Goblin is the boss_. So he decides that he’s _going_  to swallow and keep It down. And he does.

He’s standing now and he comes to meet his reflection accidentally. His gut drops out from him. Goblin wants to look away but now he can’t because  _oh God_  is that his  ** _face_**? From cheekbone to jaw, it looks like his skin was melted, an open welt that hurts and stings horribly now that he’s staring at it. His lips are cracked and bleeding, ears are pointed and curled. The whites of his eyes are yellowed and his teeth look like they had worms crawling through them. He’s **hideous.**

He thinks that’s why he lets Harry control them so often, because they can look at their pretty face. But Goblin is an  _abomination_. He hates it.

His fist connects with the mirror and the shards scatter everywhere, one of them clipping him on his collarbone. He can’t bend his hand now, and he’s not a hundred percent why because he isn't thinking straight.

The banging at his door is harder now, the sound of the wood splintering telling the Goblin he didn’t have a lot of time left with Harry before they were pulled apart by  _mommy_  and  _daddy_. He despises them too.

The green boy leans against the wall, sliding down to join his rainbow pills and broken mirror on the ground. He’s bothered now, depressed by seeing his face. Maybe  _that’s_  why everyone hates him.

"You’re being oddly quiet." He mumbles to Harry, gaze connecting with one of the longer shards of glass. Harry doesn’t answer.

Goblin reaches for it, clutching it in the hand he just punched with tightly. It stings when it cuts through his palm, but the crimson rolling down his wrist is  _pretty_  so he holds it tighter.

"You’re mine, you know that, don’t you Harry?"

 _Yeah._  His answer is quiet and defeated, but he knows Goblin will do what he wants despite what he says. The less he pisses him off the better.

Goblin doesn’t think he believes him.

"You’re mine! Did you fucking  _hear me_ , you pathetic whore? This makes you  **mine**." Harry doesn’t even know if Goblin is talking to himself or to him at this point, but he knows it  _hurts_  when Goblin drags the glass into his thigh. There’s a moment where Harry’s out and he’s not sure he can react, but his voice somehow finds the strength to yelp and groan. Goblin drives the shard in three times more and the door is broken, the crash of the book case falling over startling him. He has one more to make and then Harry will  _know_ , but Electro is standing fast and coming towards them.

He decides there is  _no time_ , Harry needs to understand this  _now_ , so he makes his last line by driving it straight into the muscle. It rests deep, hitting  _bone_  and Harry has bubbled back up and he’s  _screaming_  bloody murder. But then he’s deathly silent, suffocating on his own lungs before he’s slumping sideways, unconscious.

"Harry! Harry, wake up?" Electro is in front of the body now, not really sure how to proceed. "Goddamnit.  _Damn you_  Goblin I will  _kill_  you, I  _swear_  to God. Doc!" He shouts to outside the door, knowing the man was lingering near in interest. As expected, he steps in and takes in the scene, a growing puddle of red pooling underneath Harry. He moves to them immediately.

Max can’t help but notice the lack of Harry’s drugs on the floor, and then there’s dread coiling around his lungs.

"He took the pills." Max tells him, pressing his hands into the wound. Goblin was goddamn  _psychotic,_  and he was  _really_  hating the increasing episodes of a passed-out Harry.

The doctor nods, pushing Max away from the boy and hoisting him up. He drags him over to the toilet.

"Help me wake him up." They slap him, they shout at him, snap their fingers in front of his ears. He doesn’t wake until Max is desperate and he’s throwing icy water on his face. his eyes slit open and he’s wincing at the brightness of the room. Where is he, and who is in front of him _this_  time?

"Harry, you’ve gotta make yourself puke, okay?"

"Doc, wait. Are you sure that’s okay?" Max interjects, on the fence about calling an ambulance and possibly getting Harry locked up again. _No_ , he immediately decides against it. But Harry might need proper medical attention...

"Doctor? No,  _no. **No**_." Harry’s starting up again, incessantly shaking his head and pushing away from the supportive hands. "No more doctors,  _please_. No more. No, you can’t be in here anymore." He shoves the man harsh, fist connecting with a shoulder. Harry feels the Goblin trying to come back, but it’s because  _he’s scared_  for Harry. He needs to protect his Harry. But he won’t come up yet, Harry knows how to get rid of them.

"Doctor Oc, I think it’s best if you step aside for now." Max is instructing, as much as he needs the man’s help. He’d rather have Harry relaxed than treated right away. Besides, Max could take care of this part. "Just wait outside, I’ll come to you when he’s done." The man excuses himself, and Max moves over to crouch beside Harry. "C’mon, Har. You gotta do this, okay? You gotta puke."

Max doesn’t have to say it again, because the liquor he gulped is burning up his throat and suddenly his whole body is rejecting everything. Probably a bad combination of the drugs. You couldn’t mix a lot of them, but he did anyways. Like an idiot.

He curls his entire self around the toilet, choking and retching and heaving. Tears are in his eyes and there’s a horrible piercing pain in his stomach that’s unbearable.  _Goddamn,_  it hurts.

He groans loud, dropping his head to rest on his folded arms. He spits out, and only now does he realize that Max is soothing him and rubbing circles in his back.

"Max." He croaks out, looking at him from the corner of his eye. He feels disgusting. "I don’t wanna be crazy anymore." He tries to puke again, but it’s more of a dry heave and all that comes out is stomach acid. He can still see the half-digested capsules of the pills in the toilet from his first time, and all he can think is how _gross_  he is right now.

"You’re not  _crazy,_  Har. Not even close. This wasn’t your fault, it was –"

"Don’t say it. Please. Just don’t." He pushes away from the toilet, and Max is suddenly there with a cold washcloth pressing to Harry’s cheeks and forehead. At least he’s aware of what's going on for now.

"Doctor Oc?" Max calls again, deciding that Harry is calmed enough to have the man back in here, or more, falling unconscious again.

"Got it out?" He says, stepping inside and looking at Harry’s incredibly pale complexion. The poor kid looks exhausted, and he sympathizes, but he isn’t so sure he can look up to Osborn as a leader at this point; doesn’t think that Osborn  _can_  lead until he regains some of his sanity. If he ever does.

Max simply nods, back to trying to staunch the flow of his bleeding leg.

Max has no idea how to handle Harry like this. They had expected him to be  _somewhat_  damaged, but this was an entirely different  _level._

He doesn’t think he can help.

 

*******

 

When Harry wakes up for the fourth time in twenty-four hours, he’s back in bed. Pillows are lined all around him and there are a pair of socks on his hands. Why..? Oh, the scratching. He tugs them off and looks around the room, noting the brightness of it all. His eyes don’t like it.

He starts to push himself up when there’s a piercing ache in his stomach, and he opts to clutch it instead of sitting up. There’s a horrible taste in his mouth and his head hurts more than he’d care to admit. Goblin is strikingly silent this morning, and Harry can’t say he’s disappointed.

He steps off bed again, this time adorned in different clothing. A black shirt with white-grey sweats, but he quickly realizes he can’t support himself. As soon as his foot hits the ground he’s collapsing in a heap. He didn’t even have the chance to feel pain, the limb completely gave out on him.

"Harry!" Felicia runs in just then, pulling his arm over her and helping him stand. "You shouldn’t be up." Harry laughs dryly.

"I know, but I’m hungry." She shakes her head at him, helping him limp out towards the kitchen. Two other men he’s never seen before are seated at the table talking, and he can’t help the wave of paranoia. He clenches his jaw.

"Mysterio, Sandman. What are you two doing here? I thought you were out with Doctor Oc and Electro." She helps Harry settle on one of the stools in front of the island. He feels  _weak._

"Well we were, but then Electro got all weird and moody and said we had to stay and help out." Mysterio speaks up, flicking a card at sandman. They had been playing poker.

Harry knows he’s probably the cause for Electro’s shift, so he buries his face into his arms. God, these people must think he’s a  _waste of space_.

"And you must be Mr. Osborn himself. We’ve been waiting to meet you." Sandman says, standing and extending a hand. Harry looks up in surprise and offers him one back, but pulls it away when he notices another bandage strapped to it. Right, the shard of mirror. He offers his other hand.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for the tardy introduction, but things have been rather hectic these past few days." The mannerisms he picked up from boarding school and his father click into place easily, and suddenly he’s not weak, broken Harry. He’s Mr. Osborn, and he knows what he’s talking about. "How have things been fairing down here? More mellow, I’m hoping?" He laughs lightly, joking as if he’s been swamped in paper work rather than losing his mind. They buy it.

"Not bad at all, just wondering when we’ll all be meeting, I suppose. And where Fiers is. Haven’t seen the man in a few weeks, myself." Mysterio answers for the two of them, staying seated at the table.

Felicia interrupts the boys by sliding a plate of spaghetti towards Harry, smirking at his expression.

"It’s seven in the evening. You missed dinner." He stares at her for a beat too long, but just because of how amazing she is. An entire day of crazy Harry and she could still find it in herself to smile at him. Especially after he hit her, when he had been trying so hard to ignore her growing black eye. He pulled his eyes away in shame. He needed to get a hold on himself.

Someone comes up behind him and hits his shoulder in a comrade way, but he doesn’t expect it in the slightest. He whips around to grab the offender’s wrist, staring at him like a deer in the head lights. It’s the doctor from earlier, the one who helped him.

"S-sorry." He stutters, releasing the man’s hand and shaking his head. "Sorry." Harry repeats, and turns back towards his food, turning it around blandly now. Felicia notices it immediately.

"How was the scout-out, guys?" She distracts, hoping that some light conversation will keep Harry aware for a little longer. He seems unresponsive though.

"Not too bad. Spider-Man has been busy." Harry perks up at this, turning to face The Doctor again. "He’s rounding up all those escaped prisoners. Trying to 'restore the peace'. He's looking for you, asked us if we might know." He points to Harry, but Felicia is the one to step forward in distress.

"Well you didn’t tell him, did you?" She is standing in front of him protectively, her hand slightly raised as though to hold others back from him. Harry’s lips ghost up in the smallest of smiles.

"Of course not. You think I’m an idiot?" Her hand lowers and so does his smile. He’s thinking of Peter again.

God how he wants to hug him. How he wants Peter to swoop in and carry him away where it would just be the two of them, no _Goblin_  to ruin anything. Harry jerks upright rather suddenly, wanting to go find him now, but he forgets once more that he can’t walk. He staggers, but he holds himself up fine by using the counter as his support.

"I’m - I’m going to lay back down. I don’t feel very well." He lies, trying to make his way back on his own. Felicia ducks under his arm again, and Max on his other side regardless because he’s being a fool. They go down the same, dark hallway but turn into a different door. "Wait, that’s not my –" he starts, only to be interrupted.

"You destroyed your room. We put you in another one for.. Safety purposes. This one doesn’t lock." They put him on the bed again, but he doesn’t want to be here now. He  _needs_  a lock, they’ll get to him if he doesn’t – if he doesn’t get… "It’s _okay_ , Harry. Me and Felicia are next door. Make a sound and we’ll be here in a moment's notice, okay?"

Harry looks at him, really looks at him, and feels appreciation swell in his chest. They were in the right to leave him in an open room, and they were trying so hard to help him. Damn him, for being a selfish, mentally unstable, weak failure. His self-hate flared up. Again, he was tucked in, brought water and re-bandaged and then left alone. The door clicked shut and encased him back in silence.

He sat still for about ten seconds until he was up again, listening for any footsteps. There were none.

He pushed off the bed with reluctance, setting most of his weight on his good leg. Limping to the window, he checked the drop to the ground, and was thankful he was on the first floor. It wasn’t too bad. He moved over to the closet in the room and found a few sweaters: probably for easy access in case he got cold. He pulled one off and eased out of the window, refusing to land on his bad leg in anyway. He hurt his other ankle a bit though by taking all the impact. He ignored it.

He wants to call a taxi, but he doesn’t have any money on him. So he walks, or, more so hops, and creeps away from his mind again. Let’s himself dissociate from reality and trusts his (still injured) feet to take him where he needs to go.

It’s so easy for him to do, to step away, and pretend he’s just a regular guy, out for an evening walk to enjoy the air. Well, a regular guy in his pajamas at least. He isn’t Goblin and he isn’t Harry, just their shell.

He doesn’t know how much longer it is until he’s at a door, but he knows it was a while because his leg is aching more than before. Probably not a very good idea to go out without anyone knowing. He knocks.

He sees her before the door opens, the clear glass showing a beautiful, middle aged women weathered with time and loss. His teeth expose themselves in a huge grin, pearly whites to contrast his sometimes rotting holes.

"Aunt May." He breathes, watching her throw the door open. She doesn’t even look at him for a second before she’s pulling him into the biggest hug he’s ever had and holding him like her life depends on it. He hugs back just as hard.

"Where on  _earth_  have you been!?" She shouts, aghast, as she tries to pull him inside hurriedly. He stops her, because  _damn_  he can’t walk that fast and he doesn’t even know if his leg will cooperate with him at all. She gives him an odd look until he hobbles in through the door, and she’s shaking her head at him. He laughs. "What did you do this time, Harry Osborn?" She’s teasing him regardless of her concern, and he’s smiling regardless of the reasons behind his injuries.

"It’s work-related, actually." A smooth lie he doesn’t even have to think about, because he lies all the time and he’s not about to tell this woman what kind of  _psychotic demon_  he’s become.

"Work? I thought you stepped down from Oscorp?" Is that what they told the media? Whatever, he was caught in his lie. That’s okay, make another.

"Yeah, exactly. I had knee surgery a few months back and I’ve been on disability leave since. Still a bit stiff." It’s hard to keep the smile up because all he can think is how he – god dammit,  _no!_   ** _Goblin_  **\-- carved a a ragged ‘G’ into his thigh because Harry _belonged_  to him. Harry worried what other people Goblin would want to mark as his, but looked around the house instead. He was searching for Peter. Aunt May seemed to notice.

"Peter is actually out right now. He hasn’t been in the house much since Gwen’s accident…" She trails off, an uncomfortably sad smile touching her lips. "And I think he’s really missed you, Har." He had been wondering if she knew anything about his and Peter’s fight in the clock tower, but then she said that. She had  _no clue_ , so she couldn’t ever understand that Peter would  _never_  miss Harry after what he had done.

"Oh, that’s alright Aunt May, Peter needs to make other friends too. But I don’t think he misses me. We – we got into quite the fight."

"So he told me." She starts, pulling a chair out of the table for him to sit in. He accepts it gratefully and she sits beside him. "You were both going through an incredibly difficult time. He lost Gwen, you lost your father. I can’t imagine what that was like, Harry." She sets her hand onto his suddenly clenched fist because he feels like he’s being stabbed every time her name is mentioned and he still hates his father more than anything. Even if the bastard is in the dirt.

"I – I don’t know." He can’t think up a response.

"Well, let’s not worry about the past. You’re here now, so how are you?" He inhales to respond, but he stops himself. When was the last time he was honest about his feelings? Yeah, he broke down in front of his friends –  _twice_ , he might add – but he didn’t actually  _talk_  about it.

"I’m… I’ve been better." She gives him another small smile, but he can’t look her in the eyes. He’s been a _lot_  worse than that.

"I can see it in your eyes. When was the last time you got a good rest, Harry?" She asks, leaning her arms on the table to get a bit closer to him.

His brain rewinds and tries to answer that question, but he can’t give an actual time. Before, he would be up having sex and doing drugs. Now, now he would be up all night screaming and hallucinating. Like last night.

"I honestly don’t know." There’s a minor pause in the conversation. "Thanks for talking with me, May, but I really just had some things to say to Peter, and I probably should be heading back. Felicia – my assistant – actually doesn’t know I left my desk, so yeah... I should... I should go." More lies, but he can’t _stand_  being in a room with this pure woman knowing her child hates him. He gets up from the chair, and she’s standing with him.

"Well, you’re  _always_  welcome here." Definitely  _not_  welcome. "And take it easy, okay Harry? Everything will be okay, you’re a strong boy." He thinks she’s delusional. "I’ll tell Peter you stopped by. Thanks for coming here Harry. It was great to see you." He smiles back at her, standing in the doorway again.

"It’s great to see you too. Love you, Aunt May." The words come naturally because, yes, he thinks he really  _does_  love her. But there’s still an awkwardness to his voice because he had never had to use ‘love’ for anyone other than Peter and May before.

He’s walking (limping) away again and he hears the door shut behind him after some time. The door closing almost feels symbolic, but he keeps moving. He has somewhere else he wants to (needs to?) be.

It’s a short distance, and his leg and his hands and his heart are all horribly hurting, but he pushes himself to make it anyways. He needs to make it.

And so he does, and he’s been staring at a rock for twenty minutes because his mind is reeling and hasn’t been keeping up with him. He keeps telling himself it’s just a  _rock_ , but he can’t shake the feeling, and now he’s reading the memoir engraved on it.

He can’t stand anymore and so he collapses on the ground in a heap, his limbs giving out on him because it’s hitting him all at once  _and it hurts._  He’s sobbing horribly.

"I’m sorry Gwen, I’m  _so_  sorry. It’s all my fault. You don’t deserve to be there and I  _put you_  there." He doesn’t even understand his own words because he’s crying so hard and he can’t even stay kneeling. He plants his forehead in the dirt and presses one of his hands into it, like he wants to pull her out himself. "I’m sorry Gwen. I should be in the dirt like the scum I am, not you." He knows she can’t forgive him,  _shouldn’t forgive_  him even if she was alive, but he needs to say sorry, needs her to know that.

"Harry." The interruption is startling, but Harry can’t bring himself to turn because he  _knows_  that voice and he doesn’t think that Harry even deserves to  _look_  at him. "Or is it ‘the Goblin’ again?" Harry doesn’t miss the bitter twist to his words, and he can hear him walking closer and closer. He’s standing behind one of his shoulders now, probably either staring at the mess he is or the mess he made. Harry pushes up to his hands and wipes the dirt away.

"I’m sorry, Pete." His voice rasps, and he’s not even sure if it was loud enough to be heard. The hand Goblin both punched the mirror with and cut open on the glass is aching, and his other is still healing from the dislocation, so he sits a little more upright, letting himself fall backwards onto his bottom. He still won’t look at Peter.

"Why are you  _here_ , Harry? Why were you at my  ** _house_**?" He spits, sounding so mad, so  _hateful_  and Harry doesn’t even really have an answer. He doesn’t know why he’s here, but he didn’t want to lie down like a pathetic  _victim_  and wait for his insanity to come back and bite him. Even now, he can feel it brewing underneath everything. But he won’t - not in front of Pete. "Is it supposed to be a  _threat_? Are you trying to tell me you’ll take Aunt May next?"

" **No!** " Harry chokes, whipping around to finally look at him and he feels all the longing and wishing build up and pour out his eyes. "Why would you even  _say_  that?" He whispers, ripping his eyes away because  _fuck_  he can’t accept that he's talking to Peter.

"I don’t know  _Harry_ , why would you kill  _any_ one?" He asks it like he expects an answer, but when Harry opens his mouth to try he keeps going. "What the hell is  _wrong_  with you!? Why would you – Do you have any idea the  _hell_  my life has been?" He shoves his foot into Harry’s shoulder and kicks him over, because Peter is angry and he has the right person to take it out on for once.

Harry doesn’t bother resisting, he just falls onto his side and let’s more tears come because he’s a piece of shit, and he hates himself.

"Get up! Why won’t you  _fight_  me!? Quit lying there like you’ve given up." Peter is crying too, because he’s so damn conflicted. His once-best friend is laying on the ground, and his once-girlfriend is laying in the ground beside him. "This is so  _fucked._  This situation is so fucked. Why can’t you at least fucking  _answer me_!?" And there’s the swears, but Harry  _can’t_  answer because he’s trying to rip out his hair again and he’s mumbling ‘sorrys’ incessantly.

Peter has too many ‘whys’ to ask, and Harry doesn’t have an answer for a single one. Pete ends up collapsing cross-legged beside him.

"I hate you. You take everything from me." When Harry pushes up from the dirt so he’s sitting properly again, him and Peter make eye contact, and Peter sees blue. The last few times they’ve come across eachother, he’s seen green. But here’s Harry – his maybe-Harry? – with crystal clear eyes and his stupid pretty face. But his it's screaming trauma.

"I’m sorry Peter. I’m really sorry." He’s being so quiet and meek, Peter feels like he’s speaking with a shy mouse. "I’m so  _damn sorry_ , I didn’t  _mean_  to – I didn’t actually  _want_  to –" he’s quit talking because Peter is crying harder now and Harry needs a Peter-hug, like now. So he grabs him and wraps his arms around his back to try and pour as much apology as he can into it.

It must’ve worked because Peter is hugging him back for some reason, but Harry’s heart aches more because he’s needed Peter for  _so damn long_. He never wants this second to change, never wants it to –

"Harry Osborn! There you are.  _What the hell_  were you thinking!?" Shit. Felicia appears, stomping over to glower down at him with everything she has. Electro is a few paces behind her. "You scared the hell out of me! I don’t - what were you  _thinking_?" She repeats, wanting to slap the stupid ideas out of him.

Harry doesn’t reply, because he isn’t ready to face the fact he’s messed up and needs to be babysat, and especially in front of Peter.

"Oh." Felicia sees Peter now, and Harry has a moment to panic until he remembers they don’t know he’s Spider-Man. "Hello. I’m Felicia, Harry’s –"

"Assistant, yeah I know. I remember you being mentioned before." Harry is speechless and kind of panicked, since he has no clue why this situation is changing so rapidly. Max doesn’t seem happy about it either.

"What’s going on here?" The blue man steps up, reaching down for Harry. He jerks away;  _no one's_  taking him from Peter yet. But when he looks at Peter his eyes are wide and judging, because the man he killed is standing feet away. Harry grabs his hand and shakes his head, silently conveying that no, they don’t know who Peter's alias is. "Harry, let’s go. Now." Electro doesn’t seem to care anymore and he reaches for Harry again.

"You’re not my father." Harry mumbles, quiet and uncertain.

"What?"

"I said you’re not my damn dad! Quit acting like it." Why is he getting mad at him again? Oh yeah, cause he’s scared, and he snaps like a cornered animal when he gets scared. Y'know, survival instincts and being crazy.

"Quit acting like a kid then." Everyone kept saying that. Why do they keep saying that?

"I can be on my own for _five minutes!_ " Harry feels anger swirl and he pushes up, leaning on his better leg. He realizes he’s kinda being dick, but Peter… He just wants to be with him.

"Hm, let’s go back a few hours and look what you did in  _TWO_  minutes, Harry. Two minutes is all it took for you to almost  _kill_  yourself."

"Just stop! Stop it and shut up!"

"Harry! Harry hey hey, Harry look at me!" Felicia is interrupting, and he doesn’t know why until he sees his hands; the green patches of flesh were extending into the skin.

"Shit…" He mumbles, taking a breath and calming down because this was getting  _ridiculous_  and all he did was freak out now.

"Why are you riling him up, Max?" He looks away because he doesn’t actually have anything to say. "Go wait in the car, now." Felicia is playing the stern mommy, but Harry is actually very grateful for it because he  _is_  like a kid and he really _can’t_  be on his own. Max storms off in a huff.

Harry closes his eyes and sets a hand against his forehead, trying to breathe. He’s so _frustrated_  with himself but he _can’t_  feel frustrated or else  _Goblin_  shows up and destroys everything, and it's so annoyingly frustrating!

"I’m really sorry for all this, Peter, is it? Thank you for taking care of him while we couldn’t. You’re a good kid." Harry whips around because he had forgotten he was there for a millisecond and now he’s floored, he heard what Max said. ‘Almost killed yourself.’ This was awkward.

"Wait, wait no. That isn’t good enough." Pete stands too and looks Harry in the eyes. It’s hands-down the most he’s ever been intimidated.

"I’ll… Give you two a minute." Felicia steps away and retires to the safety of the car.

"What did he just say? What the  _hell_  did you try to do?" Harry thought they were past the anger, but it was understandable. It was kind of surprising news. "You tried to  _kill yourself_?"

"No!" He answers immediately, because technically he didn’t. "Well…" Yeah, he kinda did even before that. Eight medications and half a bottle of scotch? That’s kind of asking for it. "I don’t know."

"What the hell, Harry!" Pete shoves him the slightest but he winces and staggers because of his _stupid_ leg. He notices. "Does _that_  have anything to do with it? What’d you do!"

"I – it’s complicated Pete. You won’t understand." He finds it kind of odd that he can take  _Peter’s_  anger and violence, but as soon as  _anyone else_  touches him he’s all claws and killing.

"So  _make me_  understand! You don’t get to just disappear and  _die_  after what you – You can’t just –" another break off.

"I can’t… It’s hard to explain. You won’t get it."

"Try me." There’s a tense silence as he thinks about what to say, but there’s no way to say it. Can’t sum up, ‘I have multiple personalities, terrible paranoia, anxiety and violent tendencies and apparently can’t be left alone for x amount of time,’ without causing a huge amount of questions.

So he rips the sweater off. Grips the collar of his shirt from the back and pulls it up and off. Now he really feels vulnerable, but there’s no other way to explain it, to show him. Peter freezes, and then swallows.

"… How?" He steps forward a bit, towering over Harry as he tries to look at it all at once. "Why… Who would do this? Did you do this?" Harry shakes his head and cowers a bit, thinking about where everything on his chest came from. He brings a hand up and starts clawing at his arm because he’s so damn  _open_  right now.

"No I didn’t do it." He repeats, and looks down at the biggest one; the Y-scar. "It’s those damn disgusting doctors. They’re… You can’t bring the prisoners back, Pete. They  _ruin_  people." Peter’s hands just skimmed over his scar and he jumps a bit; he isn’t so used to being touched there. It’s almost intimate.

He’s deathly silent, tracing the big scar up and down as he just stares at it. His fingers are careful and gentle but Harry is thinking about when it was made and he feels his anxiety swell again.

His breath stutters and he clenches his fists again, thinking about it more. All the fear and pain and agony for next to  _nothing_. He grabs Peter’s hands and stops him because he can’t stand being touched right now. He looks up.

"Why would they… Why would they do that?" Peter is shaking his head, tears still stuck in his eyes. But this time they’re for Harry, he thinks.

"Because, they wanna know what goes on inside a psycho like me."

"You’re not a psycho Harry… You’re… You’re just… damaged." Peter looks angry again, but not at him. But it seems they’ve both taken their own kinds of abuse.

"Thank-you, Peter." He goes to hug him again, but Peter’s hand is planted in his chest to stop him. He looks up, surprised.

"I won’t bring you back there Harry, but," he bends over to grab Harry’s clothes and sets them in his hands. "That doesn’t mean I forgive you. Go home, get some sleep. And uh, don’t contact me again." He turns his back and Harry’s not even sure he’s upright anymore. Gone like that? Done like that? No,  _no_  that isn’t how it  _works._

 _Apparently it is. Asshole._  Goblin mutters. Ah, so he is still here. Harry is having another anxiety attack, but Goblin steps back up and it’s fine, he’s calm again. Harry disappears in the works of his mind, because Goblin always knows when he’s needed. And Harry feels like his loosening seams were just ripped open with a knife.

Goblin turns, pulling the hoody on as he walks to the car. When he opens the door and sets himself in the seat, he gets two sets of glares. He shrugs it off and stares at the window. Okay, maybe he didn’t want Harry to disappear, and he certainly didn’t want him to hurt this much. Even if he hated Parker, he could tell Harry loved him, and most certainly needed him. He hadn’t had a second of doubt or paranoia towards him until those goons showed up. Idiot Felicia and Max.

He doesn’t feel  _sorry_  for Harry or anything, he’s just kind of sad for him.

 

*******

 

Three weeks later and there’s a knock at the door. Peter furrows his brows and looks outside the glass, surprised to glimpse someone he doesn’t immediately recognize. He stand and opens the door, and then stops himself short.

"Felicia." It’s a demand and a question in one, ‘how can I help you?’ And ‘what the hell are you doing here?’ "I told Harry not to talk to me again, so I’m sorry to cut this short, but I don't want to hear it. Have a good day." He’s closing the door when her palm is planted on it and she just pushes lightly to keep it open.

"He doesn’t know I’m here." Peter stops.

"What do you want, Felicia?" He sighs, releasing the door and slumping against the frame.

"Please, Peter. You don’t know how  _bad_  he’s gotten."

"And I don’t care." He starts to turn and she grabs his arm. Peter gives her a challenging glare and she let’s go instantly.

"If you didn’t care you would’ve thrown him back in that hell hole without missing a beat." Wait what? She knows he's Spider-Man? "And no, I won't tell anyone about you." She answers, almost reading his mind.

He finds himself caught again and he’s mildly annoyed. Why do all these people think they know him? Or more importantly, why do they keep getting things right?

"That doesn’t mean anything. I’m not cruel."

"Quit kidding yourself Peter. Please, I think you’ll want to help him after you see him." There’s a tense amount of silence and Felicia is just standing there. He can tell she won’t be leaving anytime soon.

"God _damn_ it." He mutters, grabbing a jacket and walking outside his home to close the door. "Well? Let’s get going." He’s stopped by a sudden hug, freezing in place. Having a girl hug him reminds him immediately of Gwen. He pulls away.

"Thank-you Peter. Really, thank-you."

 

*******

 

They take a half hour to drive back, and as soon as they step in the door, Peter wants to sprint to Harry’s room immediately. There are horrible, gut wrenching  _screams_  accompanied by heat-breaking cries that just keep  _going_. The only reason he doesn’t is because Felicia grabs him.

"Don’t, Peter. There’s nothing we can do, you’ll only make it worse."

"Are you crazy? He’s screaming, he’s in pain. Don’t tell me to come  _help you_  and then say there’s  _nothing I can do_!" She still won’t let him go, and so Peter looks back questioningly.

"They’re Night Terrors, Peter. Wake him up and he panics more. Just wait til it’s done. Please." She looks desperate, and she has been with him in this house for a number of weeks, so she probably knows better.

"Alright, alright." He sits down in some lounge chair by the entrance, pushing his hands to his forehead immediately. He really hated himself for caring right now. "So how long does it usually last?" Felicia just shrugs.

"I honestly don’t know. Sometimes a few seconds, sometimes an hour or two." Felicia says this dully, and as Peter looks her over he realizes how exhausted she really is. She’s really trying to do whatever it takes to make Harry happier. It's a comforting thought, knowing other people care about him.

Harry’s screams suddenly raises in pitch for a minute before settling down entirely, and Peter has a second to relax. Thank god.

But then there’s an all out  _shriek_  and a thump, and both of them are rushing to the room.

"No! No,  _get off_  me!" Electro is already there, holding Harry around the waist as though he just tackled him. "Get  _away_!" Peter looks absolutely horrified.

Knowing exactly what Harry was going for, Felicia runs over to the bathroom and closes the door, deciding to guard it carefully. It was the one room they allowed him to have a lock.

"Harry  _calm down_!" Max’s voice is commanding but strained as him and Harry struggle. It seems like something that’s happened more than once, but Peter has never witnessed it before so he’s in slight distress. Just a little bit. Nothing major. Not at all. (He’s completely distressed).

"No!" It’s the most childish he’s seen Harry in a long time. Yeah, he’d have his tantrums, but it was starting to seem like ever since Peter denied him his blood, his rationality had fast declined.

"Max let him go.“ Felicia demands, and she stays planted firmly by her door. "Peter, don’t let him outside." His attention snaps to her immediately and he’s pressing his hands to the frame just like her, guarding.

When Max releases, Harry scampers away, moving towards the corner as fast as he can. He doesn’t even look at the people in his room, too desperate looking for some protection or defence. He looks  _terrified_.

Peter steps away from the door and crosses the room towards him. He’s continuously wringing his hands, looking left and right across the room with his body tucked up into itself. Even when Peter crouches in front of him, Harry just looks through him like he’s _not even there._

"Hey buddy." He says quietly, sitting down cross legged to be as non-threatening as possible. Harry’s eyes snap to look at him, but it’s a vacant look, almost like he doesn’t recognize Peter. From this close, he can see the scratches dragged down his face, his mussed up hair and the way his breathing stutters. Glancing at Harry’s hands, he notices all his nails are clipped as short as they could get without cutting the actual fingers. How the hell does he manage damage like that with no nails? "No one here is going to touch you, okay?" His eyes flick to Felicia and Max in the back, watching them intensely.

"I want them to  _leave._ " His voice is low and raspy, likely from all his screaming. Felicia and Max seem bothered by the request (more of a demand, really) but they comply regardless.

"Just be careful with him, please Peter." Is the last thing Felicia says and then the door is closing and it’s just the two of them. He turns back around and looks at Harry. He’s still staring at Peter, and it’s getting slightly unnerving. He looks terrible.

"Why did you only send them away?" Peter starts by asking, resting his hands on his knees. He’s trying to resist the urge to grab Harry, because he looks like he just needs to be held right now. But Peter won’t, just in case.

"Because they’re real. You’re just another hallucination." Peter is appalled at the response.

"No, Harry. I’m _really_  here. It’s me, Peter."

"That’s what the last Peter said." So maybe this wouldn’t be a simple as Peter originally thought. He almost smirks when a memory hits him, but retrains himself. So much for not being complicated.

"Harry, I  _assure_  you that I am a hundred percent  _real_." He tries reasoning again, looking Harry directly in his eyes. Peter even reaches a cautious hand out and sets it on the hand that’s wrapped around his knees. Harry's eyes shut and he takes in a breath.

"He said that too." Well this isn't getting them anywhere, at all.

"Well what did he say after that, then?" Peter challenges, not so sure if talking about Harry’s hallucinations will help him. But hey, at least he’s talking. That must mean something.

"He called me the devil’s spawn and then slit open my throat." His voice is so hollow when he says it, and now Peter is withdrawing his hand because he’s kind of bothered by what Harry thinks Peter would do to him. "And the one after that said I’m going to burn in hell before he ripped my eyes out. And after that he didn’t even say anything to me. He just ripped my guts out and strangled me with them. Then there was the –"

"Stop!" Peter is shaking with how livid he is, fists, jaw and eyes clenched tight. This was… This was downright sick. It was disturbing and disgusting and absolutely  _horrifying_  that Harry witnesses it, experiences it. He  _lives_  it, and Peter has a feeling his hallucinations and night terrors are probably a lot worse than that. "So then why would you send  _them_  away, and not me?" His voice is trembling but he’s trying to understand how far gone his friend is. It doesn’t sound like there’s a whole lot left.

"Because it hurts them, to see me like this. They blame themselves because they think they should’ve gotten me out of there sooner. The rest of the team moved out, I’m pretty sure. I think I scare them, and cause, y’know. I’d make a shit leader." He laughs darkly at his words. "Besides, I like seeing you." His face is somber now, and he just looks at Peter. Really looks at him. And then his heart is hurting and he’s crying again. "I  _am_  really sorry. I know it will never change anything and you won’t forgive me. But it matters that you know that. Even if  _you_  don’t really know that." He smiles the smallest amount and then he has to pull his eyes away because it’s starting to feel too real.

"I’m  _so sorry_  Harry." Peter breathes, voice cracking with it. He can’t bear the hate Harry’s putting himself through, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that it wasn’t really his fault at all. He had taken her, yeah. But the ground beneath her broke when Peter threw Harry off his glider. And he failed to catch her. Peter was really the one at fault, and here was this poor tortured kid who was driving himself to the brink of death with guilt. Harry thought he _deserved_  all this, which was probably why he was so okay with it all. Harry looks at him oddly and then he pulls further away, narrowing his eyes at him. He judges him carefully, but his breathing has picked up and he looks worried.

"You don’t… You don’t usually stay this long. And you don’t have fangs or claws or melting skin yet." Peter cringes again at the detail. "You’re not… No you’re _not_  real. Peter wouldn’t be here. He’d never come see me." He swallows thickly because he doesn’t quite believe himself with the way Peter is being, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he’d just told real Peter all that and made him pity Harry. But he’s still not attacking him, and he’s still not disappearing. He draws further away, stuffing himself as far away as he can while he watches Pete skeptically.

"Harry, please don’t pull away from me. I promise I won’t hurt you."

"Oh  _God_. Oh God  _no_ , you’re  _really here_." One of Harry’s hands flies to cover his mouth because he’s crying so hard now, and how _dare he_  manipulate Peter? He looks away, but he has to check again to see if he’s still there and that maybe he’s having a  _good_  hallucination for once. Harry uses his other hand and reaches towards Peter, to see if he’s really  _real,_  but all Peter sees is the thick, red scar that’s carved into his palm. He grabs it and Harry jumps.

"Harry, what are you doing to yourself?" Peter questions as he inspects it, eyes catching other marks he probably doesn’t want to see. And Harry is struggling to get away now because that look Peter has, the one of pure pain and fear for his well-being, he cannot stand, and Harry is just hurting more people. He rips out of the grip and sprints for the bathroom, sobbing and freaking out because how _dare_  he!? How dare he tell Peter those things?

Peter panics for a second, moving to the door because he worries what Harry will do in there, but the knob is unlocked. He twists it carefully and peeks inside, expecting the worst. There’s nothing in sight, he can’t see Harry anywhere and then he worries that  _he’s_  the one hallucinating. But then he hears a ruffle and looks to the right, where the bathtub sits. Burgundy sheets are sprawled around the edges, and there’s a small lump moving around to get settled under a matching comforter. Peter smiles because it’s kind of really adorable. He walks over to it.

Pulling the blanket off, he sees Harry on his side, burying his face into the sheets and still crying with eyes shut tight. Peter steps inside, lifting Harry’s head and settling himself down to put his friend’s head back down in his lap. The entire tub is surrounded in sheets and pillows, with the one comforter acting as warmth. It’s like a nest. Peter pulls the blanket around the both of them, brushing his fingers through Harry’s messy hair. He really doesn’t mean to, but Harry clutches onto Peter’s waist tightly, trying to squeeze out all the bad feelings.

"I’m sorry I told you those things. I didn’t think – I didn’t know you were –" He cuts himself off to let out a sob.

"It’s okay Harry, I’m not mad at you. Just relax, it’s me and you now. Nothing to be afraid of." As he continuously smooths down the bumps in his hair, Peter takes his other hand and rubs up and down Harry’s side as soothingly as he can. His breathing starts to calm.

"You’re not mad at me?" He looks up at Peter with big blue eyes, and he finds himself stricken by the raw emotion behind them. Peter shakes his head and smiles. "At all?" Another shake. "Not for anything?"

"No, Harry. What kind of best friend would I be if I held grudges?" Peter smirks at him, and he smiles so widely and sadly that Peter feels his heart pull. His expression is similar to one being told they’re dying baby will be okay. Like, all the fear and worry just disappears and all that’s left is relief and a happiness so pure you want to cry.

Peter is crying with him, but he’s happy too. He’s not going to turn his back on Harry again, he tells himself. He won’t leave the boy to fend for himself and manage all these issues that are above him.

He’s going to stay right by his side, even if that means Peter has to go crazy with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. There's that. Uh, I don't really know what this story is. Just a long ramble of crap? Who even knows. But yeah, I had a few doubts writing this, especially with Peter being violent, but after re-watching TASM, I kinda realized, like holllyy Peter is pretty messed up too. He runs around assaulting strangers because he THINKS they killed his uncle, but here he believes with everything in him that Harry killed Gwen. Idkk you can ignore it all. Anyways yeah so this is what I've been working on for like a week, and then who knows what other surprises i have in store for you! (I sure as hell dont). Wow i really hope no one reads this....


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